


To Right The Wrongs

by dreadpiratewatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, No Mary, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson in Love, Sherlock Loves John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadpiratewatson/pseuds/dreadpiratewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's overdose on the plane, John returns to 221B for answers, as well as to fix the mistake he made when he married Mary.</p><p>(I really suck at summaries today for some reason, I apologize. It's much better than it sounds. I hope.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Right The Wrongs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is something that I wrote after watching TAB, but never published, soooooo, here it is! It's just short and fluffy and angsty, and I thought I'd share it. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> -Stevie

"Were you trying to die?"

The words came so suddenly, they almost shook the detective to his core. He hadn't even noticed that John was sitting in his old chair in the living room (he had even forgotten that John still had his key), and it took all he had not to go running to him right off the bat. Instead, he said nothing, and quietly slipped his coat and scarf off of his thin frame, and walked quietly to his own chair.

Sherlock felt John's eyes following him as he walked. He tried not to look up, because he knew that if he did, it would be nearly impossible to look away again. He sat down in his chair, keeping his eyes level with the ground the entire time. "You had a fight with Mary." He observed. He tried not to wince at the lack of a chilling bite to his words.

"Don't do that." John snapped. "I asked you a question, and I want an answer."

That was when Sherlock looked up finally, and the moment he did, he regretted it.

John Watson was not angry.

That was the first surprise.

John Watson was watching him with the cold eyes of a hawk before it made a kill, but also the frightened eyes of the prey before its' life is snatched away. He had never looked at Sherlock Holmes like that before. It was terrifying. He tried not to watch.

He was trying not to do a lot of things, and none of them were going very well.

"Sherlock." John said again, quieter this time. "I asked you a question."

"I heard you, John, I just don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't do that, yes, you do."

"I really don't."

John locked his jaw. He leaned forward in his chair, balancing his elbows on his knees as he stared the detective dead in eye. Even in a jumper and jeans, John Watson could be menacing. The doctor bit at the inside of his mouth. "Sherlock... On the plane, you... You were high before you even got on. You took enough to overdose. You took enough to _kill you,_ Sherlock."

Sherlock stiffened as his heart rate began to climb. "I had to solve the murder, John. I had to know how Moriarty survived. You know that."

"Don't play stupid with me, Sherlock, you didn't even know that he was alive until after you took the drugs." John shot back, his hands clinching into fists. "I'm not stupid, Sherlock, I know a suicide attempt when-"

"Stop it."

"No, you stop it! You took enough drugs to overdose, and you did it before Moriarty, before you even stepped foot on that plane. Now tell me straight, were you trying to die?"

"Stop it!" Sherlock's heart was beating so loudly that he couldn't even hear himself think. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to have this conversation with John, not now, not ever. "I... I said stop it."

"No, I won't stop, until I get an answer!" The doctor yelled. "What were you trying to do, Sherlock? Were you trying to-"

"John, stop, please!"

The plea came out a lot louder than Sherlock anticipated. He also didn't think his voice would break.

Without even looking in John's eyes, Sherlock stood as quickly as he could, and began to storm toward his bedroom, away from the questions, away from the accusations, and most importantly, away from John. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, John." He growled.

Somehow, however, John moved much faster than he did, and before he could even register what was happening, John's hand was wrapped tightly around his arm, right above his elbow, with no intention of releasing him. "Sherlock, stop, okay? Just stop."

He did, but he did not turn around. His face was already hot with embarrassment and anger, and he decided not to let John see that.

John grip let up slightly when he realized that Sherlock wasn't going anywhere, but not enough to the point that Sherlock thought he'd be able to get away. "Please, just... Just answer the question. Were you trying to die?"

He tried to ignore the crack in the doctor's voice.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. "I was dying anyway." He muttered angrily. "It was a suicide mission, John, I was dead already. I preferred to do it without whips to my back or a gunshot wound to the temple. I've already been through that once, and trust me, this way was much easier."

John's breathing went silent. "How was it easier?" His voice was heavy and raspy, not angry like it was before.

"How was it _not?"_ The detective snapped, ripping his arm from his best friend's grip and whipping around to tower over him. "What do you care, anyway? You got what you wanted." He knew the statement was harsh, he knew it the moment that the hurt touched John's steel like eyes, but this was no longer about avoiding the question, and more now about getting John Watson out of his flat. It was the truth, though, John got what he wanted, his wife, his unborn daughter, he got what he wanted, which was a normal life with Sherlock on the side.

John didn't seem ready to run. In fact, he stood a little straighter, and locked his jaw once again, keeping up his soldier appearance. "I care, Sherlock, because I'm your friend."

The detective scoffed.

John's gaze hardened, but he ignored the dismiss. "You can't... _Leave_ like that, Sherlock, people need you."

"No one needs me."

"Yes, they do."

"Bullshit." Sherlock spat back.

_"I do!"_

John's voice echoed off of the walls of the flat, and shook Sherlock right down to his core.

The detective watched as his friend faltered. He didn't even realize that John was gripping both of his arms, and was now dangerously close to his face. He watched as his hard expression fell, and was replaced by nothing but sheer emotion _(Fear? Anger? Regret? Guilt?)._

"Sherlock..." John said softly, his voice breaking. "Sherlock, I need you. I do."

"Why would you need me?" The detective sneered.

John looked up to meet his gaze, and when he saw the anger, he let go of his arms, and stepped back, only to stare at the floor. "You really don't know, do you?" He whispered to the floor, sounding winded.

Sherlock swallowed hard. "Know what?"

When their eyes met, Sherlock saw that they were filled with tears, and he tried to remember how to breathe. _No._ He thought. _No, no, no, it can't be. Not now._

The doctor's lips parted, and he bit down on his tongue. "I'm in love with you, you idiot. Have been for years. Yes, I fucking need you."

Sherlock's entire world splintered, but his heart began to pound harder and harder, and his breaths came in short gasps. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't. This was a dream. It took every force of willpower to not launch himself at John Watson, because he knew it wasn't real. John was lying. It was the only possible explanation.

So, he put up his icy cold mask, narrowed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. "Don't play with me, John, it isn't funny. I may act heartless, but I do, contrary to popular belief, have a heart, and it hurts when people pretend. Do not play with me." He snarled, tears brimming over, finally.

John seemed shocked. "What are you talking about? You think I'd lie to you about that?"

"Everyone else does, why wouldn't you?"

"Sherlock-"

"Get out." Sherlock stepped forward, and tried to push the doctor away, but not hard enough to make John stumble, instead, sending himself straight into his grip. John's hands curled around his wrists, and held him close enough to feel the heat of John's breath on his face. "Let go of me." He hissed.

John only tightened his grip. "Sherlock Holmes, you are so smart, and I need you to use that big brain of yours. You can tell if a person is lying just by the way they're standing, and I need you to look me in the eye, and tell me that I'm lying."

 _Don't risk it._ His heart said. _Don't risk it. He's lying._

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. Just do it."

Reluctantly, he looked up, and stared down into the beautiful cobalt colored eyes that he had fallen in love with so many years before, and where he expected to see falsity, he only saw truth. He saw truth, and years and years of pent up emotion. He saw the same love that he had for the army doctor who had saved his life all those years ago, and so many times after that. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and it made his heart ache. It was also terrifying. _If this is a dream,_ he mused, _please let me wake up._

But, instead of waking up, John reached up and wiped the wetness from his tear stained cheekbones. Sherlock would never forget how John's hands felt on his face. "Am I lying to you, Sherlock?" He murmured, his voice low and quiet, like he were whispering to a child.

Sherlock couldn't speak. It was too much. He could only stand there and take in the feeling of John Watson's hands as they caressed the sharp angles of his face so gently that he felt his stomach tighten. It was too much.

John sighed. "Okay, answer me this. What were you going to say? Right before you got on the plane, you said you had to tell me something, and then you made a joke, and left, but you and I both know that that wasn't it. So, tell me, what did you really want to tell me?"

"You fucking know what." Sherlock rasped.

"So, you love me too, then. You love me as much as I love you."

Once again, he couldn't speak.

"Answer me, please, Sherlock. Say something so that I know you're okay." John quietly pleaded with him, his voice hesitant with anxiety.

"I couldn't do it, John." The detective said, his voice cracking already. He had elected to never cry in front of John Watson, but he couldn't stop it now. He dropped his gaze to the floor, so that he couldn't see John's disappointment. "I couldn't leave you again, I couldn't. You were all I had, and then I left, and you had Mary, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. After all of the hurt I caused you, and everything I put you through, I was going to have to leave the only thing that kept me alive behind again, with a wife and a baby, and I decided there was no point. I thought I'd be kind to myself for once. I would have rather died." His confession left him breathless and heartbroken, and so afraid to look up that he wished he was dead already, so that he wouldn't have to feel John's anger. "I'm so sorry, John, please... Please, whatever you do, please don't hate me, I'm so sorry."

John remained silent. He didn't even breathe. Soon, he even let go of his wrists.

 _There you've done it._ He thought. _He hates you. You're disgusting. You're pathetic. John has Mary, he wouldn't leave her for a junkie like you._

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for John to walk away. He knew it was coming, it was obvious. John would leave, now, he would leave and never come back.

But, then, he was suddenly wrapped up tightly in the warmth of John's arms, his head buried in the doctor's shoulder. Sherlock couldn't catch his breath. He never expected this. "You beautiful thing. You beautiful, beautiful man, I love you so much, I'm so sorry." John whispered in his ear.

_"John."_

The doctor made a sound in his throat that sounded too much like a sob, then tightened his grip around the younger man's shoulders. "You're so beautiful, and so amazing, and I'm so sorry for what I've done to you. I promise, Sherlock, I promise that I will never let you feel that way ever again. I love you so much."

Sherlock suddenly pulled away just enough to look the doctor in the eye, though everything was blurry. "How are you not angry with me?"

"Because I know how much you're struggling." John replied, his voice tired and heavy. He suddenly looked old, much older than his forty years, which Sherlock hated seeing. "I spent so much time trying to protect you and keep you from destroying yourself, that I didn't realize that I was part of the reason for it."

His heart leapt to his throat. "N-no, John, it wasn't you, you didn't know-"

"Sherlock, stop it." John commanded, though it wasn't like the normal soldier's order. It was soft and kind, and so much like John that it made the detective's stomach flip. John smiled at him, and caressed his cheek, wiping the moisture from his skin. "It's okay." His voice was no louder than a whisper. "Just stop." And before Sherlock could even register it, John pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and pulled away, leaving the detective in shock, though his heart felt like it was going to explode right out of his chest.

Sherlock pulled away, forcing himself out of John's arms as he stared at his best friend in horror. "Y-you can't do that, you have a wife!" He shouted. _John wouldn't do that to Mary, not for me, at least._

John Watson sighed, and passed a hand over his tired face. "Yeah, I do have a wife. A wife I barely know, and that I haven't loved for the last few months."

"But... But your daughter..." The detective stuttered as he took another step back.

"We'll work it out." John didn't even let him finish the thought. "One way or another, we'll work it out. Mycroft can make himself useful." He slowly closed the distance between himself and Sherlock, with his arms slightly outstretched, like he were approaching a frightened child on one of their cases. "If you'll have me, though, I want to come back to you."

The noise that came from Sherlock was nothing less than a sob, and without so much as a passing thought, he all but threw his arms around John's shoulders and buried his face in his shoulder, listening John's soft, breathless laughter in his ear. "Of course you can come home, John, I'd love you to come home." He whispered.

John's arms tightened around him. "I'll even come home tonight, if you want, but I need you to promise me something." His voice had suddenly gone grave, not like the way it was before.

The detective tensed, and pulled away from John, but not far enough so that he was out of his arms. He said nothing, only waited for John to speak while he studied his face.

To his surprise, though, when their eyes locked, John's gaze was nothing sort of loving once again, and the doctor reached out and stroked his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, brushing any remaining wetness from before. "Sherlock, do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Then, I want you to do something for me."

Sherlock nodded. "Anything, John."

John studied his face for a moment longer, as if he were looking for a way to word what he was trying to say, his eyes not once leaving Sherlock's face. The detective suddenly felt like he was being silently praised, and that John was saying a lot without really saying anything at all. He tried to look down. "Hey, no, don't do that." John chided gently as he caught his chin and made him look up at him again, though this time he was smiling. "I need you to promise me that you'll never, ever use ever again. I don't care what it's for, but I need you to promise me that you'll never touch that stuff ever again."

"John, I swear, what happened with Magnussen, it was just for a-"

"No, Sherlock" He moved his arms to Sherlock's biceps and pulled him closer to him again, to the point that Sherlock could feel John's heartbeat on his own chest. "I don't care if it was for a case or not, it can't happen ever again. I don't think I'll be able to survive another overdose like the one I saw today. I will not lose you to something like that. I refuse. Whatever you think it does for you, makes you work faster, makes you think clearer, I don't care what you say. I love you and I don't want to see you destroy yourself." The doctor reached up, held Sherlock's face in his hands, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then pulled him away just enough to look him in the eye. "This is the man I fell in love with, so please stop trying to take him away from me."

Sherlock had nothing to say that. His throat was too tight for him to speak, so he just nodded, and allowed John to hold him after that.

They stayed like that, standing there in each other's arms until time slipped away, and after that, just as promised, John still stayed with him all night long. They ordered Angelo's, and broke out the scotch that John loved, and sat in their chairs while they talked, just like they had when they first became friends, At one point during the night, while the alcohol still buzzed through their systems, and they were too busy laughing to realize that the sun would be up in an hour, they looked at each other with a smile that said only one thing; _We deserve a do-over._


End file.
